The Phantom Ghost
by AngelicGirl
Summary: See inside for full summary. Christine is gone but OG is back. Managers send for a special inspector who studied under Sherlock homes (the dates dont match but go with me here) The story is about how the inspector falls in love with her quarry.
1. Default Chapter

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Disclaimer: The musical The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, the book Phantom belongs to Susan Kay. These are where I draw my story from. Description: It's two years since Christine has been gone, and she is gone for good. But the Ghost lives on. The managers send for inspector Aragon to make sure he doesn't remain breathing for long. And this is the story that tells how she fell in love with her quarry. The Phantom Ghost 

Chapter One: Shadows and Strangers

" All People are a product of their environment and their will- the stronger of the two defines the person."- Jacquline Christine 

                It was a cold night in Paris. Winter of 1873 had just set in and November frost covered the ground. No flowers bloomed, and all trees were bare. The wind rushed through the dark streets, tossing the cape of a dark figure all around. The figure headed for a small café near the boulevard. Ice framed the glass door that the shadow stepped through. It glanced around the room, the hazel eyes hidden under the fedora.

 It spotted what it was searching for- two nervous men sitting in a dark corner. One was about 35 with dark hair and blackish eyes. His body was thin, the sort of thinness born of nerves.  His skin was light, and the lines of worry were permanently etched in his forehead.  

The other looked in his late forties, maybe fifties. His hair was a sandy brown and his skin worn from the sun. His sad brown eyes looked tired enough to close and never open again. 

Both men were clearly distressed; they looked around the room, expectantly. The shadow strode to the table, but the managers dismissed the strange man with a wave of their hands.  The younger one looked past the dark figure. With irritation he addressed his companion, "Do you see her?" he stood, looking over the dark object rooted in his way. 

"Patients Andre" replied the older one, looking up at the mystery gust.  

"Pardon us, Monsieur, but we are expecting someone, if you would care to move along" barked Andre.

The shadow was not pleased with Andre's rudeness, but decided the game was over.

"I presume you are the managers of the Paris De La Opera" the voice issued from the figure. Both men were taken back at the mezzo-soprano tone that greeted their ears. It was a woman's voice; both stood amazed. 

The figure removed the black fedora, revealing brown curls pinned just above her neck. Firmin studied her. Her gentle eyes rested on them both, the green and brown mixture beautiful and haunting. The girl-no, women, looked to be in her mid-twenties.  She had classic features. The English features were easy to spot for Firmin.   

"Inspector Aragon?" Firmin's eyes lit in surprise. Andre stiffened in realizing how rude he had been to the very person they'd been waiting for. 

"I must say, I was expecting you in more…feminine attire" Andre explained as he seated her.

She ignored his comment and gave them a mischievous smile. 

"Good evening, Gentlemen, I am Dianna Aragon. You sent for me, and brought me all the way from London to assist you, correct?" she inquired with a business-like air. She noted they both looked a bit dumbfounded by the whole situation, so she eased her tone to a more gentle level.

The managers introduced themselves. She liked the older one, Firmin, at once, and felt sorry for the other, whom looked on his last nerve. 

"Yes, but Mademoiselle, if you don't mind, may I ask why you are in men's attire?" offered Firmin. 

"My mentor, Sherlock Homes, has advised me that traveling for a women, young and alone, can be quite dangerous, thus, he advised me to adorn men's clothing until I had safely reached you two." She explained. 

A pause followed in which the two men reasoned her explanation. She continued on.

" Monsieurs, Homes has told me little of your care. I was only told it was urgent I leave right away, and I was clearly the only student qualified for such a case." 

The managers exchanged worried glances.

Firmin inhaled deeply and began the tale, 

" Mademoiselle, the whole affair really started before we became managers of the Opera house. You see we arrived here in the summer of 1870. At the time, the lead mezzo-soprano was Carlotta Gucci, the lead soprano was Camilla Rocqular, the lead tenor was Alberto Gonzales, and the lead baritone was Jacques Stevens.

The whole ting started when Camilla married, and left the opera.  We were in the process of performing Carmen, and since Carlotta had the lead, and the soprano was a small part, we just used Camilla's understudy, a chores girl named Christine Daae.

Carlotta had always been the starring female in the Opera. People came across oceans to hear the woman sing.  That night, although Christine was barley on stage at all, she stole the show. The audience loved her at once, and that night, her fame began, and surpassed Carlotta's. 

Andre cut in, "And Carlotta, being the spoiled diva she was, insisted Christine be placed back in the chores, or she would quit. Understand Carlotta was the big name of the theater.  She drew the crowds. No matter how good Daae was she wasn't worth loosing Carlotta over. " He concluded. 

Firmin continued on, "We put Mademoiselle Daae back in the Chores, and forgot about her, but someone else had not." He said darkly. 

Andre burst in again, "She had been receiving singing lessons from a mysterious teacher, while we had been receiving threatening notes from The Opera Ghost" 

"The Opera Ghost?" Dianna inquired, smothering a laugh.

The expressions on their faces convinced her it was no laughing matter.

"What type of notes?" she asked, her eyes dancing with suspicion.

Firmin reached into his breast pocket and extracted three sheets of thick paper, folded.

"I thought you might want to see these, inspector," He said, as he handed them to her.

She studied the first one. It was written in blood-red ink, the lettering spider-thin.

It read:

Monsieurs Firmin and Andre,

It has come to my attention that you gentlemen are the new managers of my opera house. I trust you will do right by my actors and my music. Being you are knew to my opera house, it is to be understood you are not aware of the nature of business here. 

As I am kind enough to allow you to run my opera house, choose the operas to be preformed, choose the cast, and earn the money you, in turn, are kind enough not to sell box five, as it is where I view the opera when I please, and to pay me a monthly salary of 20,000 franks. Occasionally I may send you suggestions in casting or music, and I expect my orders to be followed. Now that we have established our agreement, I wish to leave you instructions.

On the 5th of every month, you are to leave my salary with my exclusive box keeper, Madam Rochelle. Do not attempt to enter my box; as such breeches of privacy may be hazardous to one's health. 

Should any of these contracts be breeched, or should you fail to follow my instructions, disasters may occur. 

                                                Sincerely,

                                                                O.G.

Dianna's mind turned, looking for accidental clues. _By the way this person referred_ _to the opera house, it seemed he must be somewhat mad, calling it his own, not to mention demanding money!_

_Why would he consider it his? Perhaps he had worked there for sometime, or been a patron of the opera house, or a financer of it's building, or it's architect, the possibilities went on_, she mentally reminded herself to check them later. She then moved onto the next note:

Monsieurs Firmin and Andre, 

It seems you have chosen to ignore the talent I have laid before you. Clearly Mademoiselle Daae's talent is far superior to Signora Gucci's. Though the latter of the two may carry the better-known name, in time, Mademoiselle Daae could achieve just as much fame, most likely more.    I advise to choose the cast for Faust very carefully. 

Sincerely, 

O. G. 

Dianna folded the letter closed. _This phantom ghost seemed to have some connection with Miss Daae. No, she reminded herself_, in France it was Mademoiselle Daae. Clearly he favored her, at least her singing, and the managers say they suspect the O. G. to have been her mysterious tutor._ A thought occurred to her._

"Was Christine Daae attractive?" She asked.

Firmin shifted in his chair. "She was widely considered so, yes."

"Is it possible she could have been…" _How could she put this delicately? "Repaying this O. G. with some means besides money?" _

Andre's head snapped up at the suggestion. "I could never imagine that of Mademoiselle Daae."  

Dianna put up her hands in surrender. 

"I did not mean to offend, I am only looking for the facts."

"I seriously doubt that was the nature of their relationship, still, I can give you Mademoiselle Daae's address, if you wish to contact her"

"Yes, that would be helpful."

Dianna unfolded the third letter. It contained no letters, but a Rune. A rune she recognized immediately.  It was the rune Thurisaz. It was depicted as something resembling a triangle standing on its side, the rune meant Chaos. 

So, we have an educated man here. Clearly attended school for some number of years, or at least possesses knowledge of history. Where did they teach runes anyway? England, she knew, France, mostly throughout Europe. So we can assume that the ghost was most likely raised in Europe. 

"Is this all?" She asked.

"All we kept" Said Andre with a gesture of frustration. 

"When did you receive this last one?"

"The day of what we assumed to be the O. G.'s death"

"Please, you never finished the story. What happened after you put Miss- Mademoiselle Daae back in the chores?" 

"The ghost threatened us, of course. Not to mention the Viscount did his share of complaining on her behalf," said Andre bitterly. 

"The Viscount?" Dianna steeled herself against her own frustration_. How was she to help if they left out vital details?_

"Yes, they were in love. They're married now, they have been for nearly two years."

Firmin, perhaps sensing her frustration, cut in. "To make a long story short it is our belief that the O. G. was in love with Christine Daae, and jealous of the Viscount. In the end, we gave Mademoiselle Daae the leading roles, but disaster still struck. Though she never spoke of it, it is my belief that she scorned the O. G. in some way. 

You see, the disaster happened on the night we preformed the O. G.'s opera. When I say his, I mean the opera he composed. Christine played the lead. Sometime during the performance the O. G. managed to kill our lead tenor, and sing the tenor's duet with Mademoiselle Daae in his place. 

It was then it happened. Onstage he presented Mademoiselle Daae with a ring. She took it, and at the same time ripped off a mask he was wearing. I tell you, Mademoiselle, I have never seen such a face. It was not human. 

In a fit of rage he swept her up and they vanished. Her lover, the Viscount, charged after her. No one knows what occurred in the bowls of the opera that night but the viscount, Mademoiselle Daae and the O. G. himself. All we know is the former two emerged, saying the O. G. was dead. Within the week they left the opera house and were married not three months later."

Andre took over again. "We thought it was all over, until around a month ago when we received this." Now Andre drew a letter from his breast pocket. Dianna took it gingerly. 

Monsieurs Firmin and Andre,

I so hope you have enjoyed yourselves during my state of hibernation. But now I'm very much alive again. Did you not think a ghost could cheat Death? I expect my salary on the fifth of this month. Best not to be late. 

Sincerely, 

O. G. 

"And so this phantom-ghost has returned?" She asked.

"We fear so. Which is why we brought you here." Firmin explained.

"And what exactly do you want of me?"

"Only to find his exact location of living, draw him out of it. If you can't draw him out, kill him" Said Andre, his eyes dark and cold.   

Hello everyone! Thanks so much for reading. Be sure to review and ell me if you love it, hate it or just don't care! – Jacqueline Christine (my real first and middle names mind you)


	2. Sympathy and Moonlight

The Phantom Ghost 

Chapter Two:

Sympathy and Moonlight

"There truly is no Right or Wrong in the world- only perspectives and opinions."- Jacqueline Christine

The moon was large and perfectly round that evening. Her light filtered in through the dusty windows of a lone flat. The glass panes covered so thickly in much it was difficult to distinguish the moonlight on the hard wood floor. But it was enough to illuminate the dirty white walls and outline the sparse furniture in shadows. 

What was most notable in this vacant flat was the serenity. There was only silence and stillness. That is, until there was a rattling of keys outside the door, and an offensive boot, which gave the aged, wood a good kick. It sent the door swinging madly on its hinges into the wall, causing a loud thud. 

Dianna pressed the door closed, having to lean nearly all her body weight against it to properly shut and lock it. Panting and exhausted she collapsed on a near by chair.

And it collapsed under her. She sat still on the remains of the chair, looking up at the filthy windows from her vantage of the carpet and began to laugh. 

_The perfect end to a perfect day._ Only she would be amused by this. It took every ounce of energy she had to stand up again, grab her suitcases and haul them into the next room. 

She sat gingerly on the bed, hoping against hope it wouldn't give out as well. Still fully dressed, she stared up at the crumbling ceiling.

Her first case. Well, not truly. Her first case without Holmes' assistance. Here she was, in France for only the second time in her life. And not only here for a case, but certainly an intriguing one. 

Murderer. Extortionist. Hedonist. Cynic. Intellectual. Musician. Man. Most importantly, a man. And of course, this gave her a slight edge, in being female. At least, that was what she had come to expect. 

_What sort of man are you? There is a great story of love here. A story of tragedy and anger, jealousy and madness. Of course, _she assumed_, he must be mad._

First things were first. Find those who knew him best. Christine the chores girl and Raoul the Viscount. Question staff members. No, first I have to slip into the opera unnoticed. 

Of course the plan is simple. Get into his head. Find out what he's about. Catch his attention. Catch him of guard. Put him in the clink. 

For what must have been the thousandth time that evening Andre's words came back to her. If you can't draw him out, kill him. Of course, there was nothing she couldn't do if she put her mind to it. She could draw him out. The alternative was much too unfair and gruesome to consider. 

Granted, she had killed before. He was a Vagabond and she had been in danger. And in truth she wasn't certain he had died, though it was likely. But to calculate and purposely murder a man, even a murderer, that she would not do.  She still had scruples, didn't she? Or had she left them back in that grand cathedral?  

But now was not the evening for judgment. At least not her own. Dianna's eyes were already loosing the battle to stay open. Tomorrow, tomorrow was a new day. A day of questions and answers. 

*              *                *                *                *                *                *                *                *                *                *                *              

In all her twenty-six years Dianna Aragon had never discovered anything so soothing and exhilarating as a bath. Never mind how long it took to heat the water over a stove, it was heavenly. The heated water could cleanse  nearly anything.

_Too bad it can't save this flat. _The contrast of the meager surroundings and their disorderly state was shocking. 

But the nearly sensual feeling of cloth damp with warm water rubbing across her skin was enough to silence her practical mind. 

Today was the day she would visit The Happy Couple. _Who was Christine? Was she a sensual goddess of a woman with gorgeous exotic eyes? A delicate beauty with the voice of an angel? Why had he loved her?_

And the sudden realization came to Dianna that why he had loved her was not truly an issue. It occurred to her she was not only seeking to understand him in order to catch him, but also to make her own judgments on him. She wanted to know if he was truly guilty. 

Murder. Murder, Dianna, cannot be excused by love, no matter how great. 

She searched through her suitcases. Only Four gowns, nightwear and one set of men's clothing to her name.Well, plus all the franks she was carrying.

She dressed in a navy blue dress with a black petticoat.  Accompanied by the usual stockings and boots. Quickly, she tied her hair back into the bun that was so typical of middle-aged women. She had wanted to appear friendly. Now, she looked like a strict old maid. 

With a sigh she let her hair back down. _There, that helps. _There were many random moments where Dianna felt a great dislike for whomever had first had the grand idea that long hair was an attractive feature on women. It was too messy, to impractical (or so she told herself. Deep down she was as vain as any other woman and adored her dark hair.) 

She grabbed her traveling bag quickly and was out the door and on her way to see the infamous Christine. 


End file.
